


The Taste Your Lips Allow

by bymoonlight



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Barebacking, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Neko Au, Nesting, Self-Lubrication, Size Difference, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 07:26:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5408057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bymoonlight/pseuds/bymoonlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroo promises Kenma they'll be mates once they're older. Years pass and Kuroo forgets about the promise but Kenma refuses to let it go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: omg have you thought of the idea of kuroo and kenma being alpha and omega werecats where they like have cat ears and tails but all the rest of the features are human, but like kenma purring when kuroo nuzzles him and scent marks him and like kenma going into heat and his tail wrapping around kuroo's arm like a lifeline as they rut
> 
> Posted this on my tumblr a super long time ago and I've been meaning to put it on ao3, too.
> 
> edit: as of 02/22/16, I changed the title and summary because I hated the previous ones.

When they’re both nine is when Kuro decides that they’re going to be mates.

“I’ll be your alpha!” he says proudly, hip jutted out and head held high, a silly imitation of that weird posturing thing grown alphas like to do when they show off. 

They’re in Kenma’s bedroom, the small kitten curled up on his bed with his gameboy in his hands.

“What if I don’t want an alpha?” he says dismissively, velvet ears twitching atop his head as he tries to fend off the final boss. 

A moment of silence passes, Kenma too involved in his game to notice. The bed dips with an added weight to it and before he can pause his game, it’s snatched out of his hands and placed strategically out of his reach.

“What do you mean by that?” Kuro says, crowding into his space, a hand placed on either side of his head. His face is pinched sour into an emotion Kenma can’t quite pinpoint. He’s never been good at reading people and it gnaws at him — that little, aching worry that he’s upset his only friend.

“I-I don’t know,” he says, golden eyes focused on the way Kuro’s hair tufts up at the side; at anything other than the other boy's searching gaze. “We’re only nine, Kuro. Why do you wanna talk about this kind of stuff?”

The game beeps incessantly in the background — a light-hearted noise to the topic they’ve stumbled across. Kenma feels crowded and vulnerable, his black ears flattened against his skull in a clear show of emotion. He has to fight the urge to bear his neck to Kuro, a traditional omegan display of submission.

“Is there someone else?” Kuro asks, a slight quiver to his voice.

Kenma’s brows furrow at the question and he shakes his head. “You know you’re my only friend,” he says, mustering up the courage to look the small alpha dead in the eye.

Kuro’s bottom lip is jutted out, slightly quivering. He’s putting on that brave face he does when people look to him to take the lead just because he’s an alpha, never mind the fact that he’s still a child who sleeps with a worn teddy bear.

A small sound slips passed Kenma’s lips, a quiet mewl that makes Kuro melt, burying his face in the nape of the omega’s neck. 

“I just—“ he says, nosing the pale skin along Kenma’s collarbones, his tongue swiping out to taste the skin there. 

He’s grown up with Kenma, ever since they were big enough to stand. They’d toddle about in Kenma’s backyard, Kenma on the swing set, pumping his little legs with Kuro pushing from behind. He’s always had this urge to protect Kenma in all aspects, although Kenma insists Kuro doesn’t need to, pushing him away and elbowing him in the gut when the baby alpha gets too overbearing.

It’s just something engraved in him, carved into his bones. His fingers twitch at his side, always yearning to wrap around Kenma’s tiny wrists and pull him into Kuro’s arms where he’s safe.

Kenma’s heartbeat feels like it’s fluttering, tapping against his chest like a hummingbird, its wings beating a mile a minute. He’s cuddled up to Kuro plenty of times when they were small in their jammies, tucked into bed together, their scents intermingling from proximity.

But this is different.

This is what his daddy does to his mother at night, curled around her like a protective blanket when they think Kenma’s not looking, assuming he’s too fixated on his video games to care.

Kuro settles to the side of him, body pliant in Kenma’s arms. His unruly hair tickles Kenma’s neck, smelling of sweet rainwater and lilies. Kuro drapes himself over Kenma, eyes closed and breaths even. He nuzzles the omega, the tip of his nose grazing Kenma’s pulse point.

He wants to bury himself in that scent, because it’s all he can remember of summer days and rainy nights, flashing video games and coming home after school to the smell of freshly baked bread. Kenma smells like home.

Like _mate_.

The omega doesn’t really know what to do, melted into the pillows of his bed, his friend a comforting weight resting against him. He threads his fingers through Kuro’s hair gently, careful not to tug at his bedhead.

Deep in his chest, he feels it — it’s something intangible,  _solidifying_. Like molten magma bursting out of the floor of the sea, flooding into the ocean and creating something new. A foundation for the future.

A small sound bubbles in the back of his throat, unintentional and yet, all the more natural for it. It’s a deep, resonating sound and when he opens his mouth, it’s as clear as day: an omegan purr.

It rumbles in his throat and he clasps his hand over his mouth. He doesn’t know how to stop it and his cheeks color a flushed pink. Soft hands tug at his wrist, pulling them away. 

“Don’t,” Kuro murmurs, lips moving against the soft flesh of Kenma’s neck, “I like it.”

He can feel the vibrations as he holds the omega and it makes him sleepy, the gentle motions like calming waves over his body.

“Ah,” Kenma lets slip, his purr catching in his throat. 

They’re friends —  _best friends_  — and he knows that maybe Kuro’s just being fickle; that maybe when he grows up, he’ll change his mind and find himself a prettier omega. One who doesn’t stutter over their words and can talk without being prompted.

“I wouldn’t mind it,” he says quietly, Kuro nuzzling even deeper, breathing in his scent. “If you want to be my alpha.”

He wouldn’t mind it.

Not at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Kenma can’t help but admire Kuro’s lithe form — sturdy muscles bunched together and moving beneath the thin fabric of his work out shirt. He’s conditioning with the other team members, running suicides back and forth across the court.

His long legs carry him where he needs, his sleek, black tail curled low behind him. He looks like a jaguar, dark features a blur. His movements are agile and fluid with a grace that only few achieve so naturally.

And then there’s Kenma; the runt of the litter, plucked off to the side, his stomach churning and his head woozy. He’s been feeling off-kilter for days now. He can’t quite discern it, the way shivers wrack his body every other hour. His pale skin will pebble with goosebumps and there’s this heavy pit in his stomach that makes him cramp up, tears stinging his eyes with how painful they are.

As practice finishes up, the omega decides maybe he’ll skip school tomorrow, have his mother call in for a sick day. He waits for Kuro while the team cleans the gym, putting away the equipment and sweeping the floor.

He fiddles with his phone for the better half of the next five minutes until Kuro makes his way over to him, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Ready to go?” the alpha asks, white shirt still clinging to the shape of his body. Kenma squirms, a shaky exhale ghosting past his lips. It feels like he’s been punched in the gut, dizzy for air.

Kuro stares, transfixed on the omega. Kenma’s ears are flattened against his head, his tail a lifeless, black line on the bench.

“You look like shit,” he says, picking up Kenma’s stuff and slinging it across his shoulder as well.

Kenma cracks a smile at that. “I feel like it,” he says. “Maybe I came down with something.”

They walk home in a comfortable silence, only broken with the occasional murmurings about their day. Being in Kuro’s presence has a dual effect on Kenma; he feels more at ease with the alpha than anyone else but the symptoms of his sickness feel double fold.

“What are you doing tonight?” Kenma asks, only a block away from his house.

“Dunno,” Kuro mumbles, shrugging and looking off into the distance. The sun’s begun to set, a pale, fiery yellow dipping below the horizon. “I might call Reina. She’s been bugging me a lot lately but she’s kind of cute.”

Kenma nods, golden eyes impassive.

Kuro’s popular with the second year girls — with everyone, really. And why wouldn’t he be? He’s tall, handsome, athletic. He’s a shoe-in for next year’s position as captain and he’s kind and gentle when it counts. Everyone must puzzle as to why he keeps this quiet, little omega by his side.

A runt that doesn’t speak much with a gaming device always in reach. Kenma doesn’t like feeling their eyes on him, the way some of the omegas will whisper hushed words to each other as he walks by.

He wants to reassure them that _no_ , his best friend isn’t using him as a convenient fuck but he also doesn’t want to confront them because he isn’t good with words and he’s not ready for their silent judgement. He doesn’t want to care what they think of him, but he can’t help himself and so he lives with it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Kuro says as they stop in front of Kenma’s house.

The omega shrugs, gnawing at his bottom lip. “Maybe,” he stares at the ground, noting the little cracks and crevices in the weathered sidewalk. “I might call in sick.”

A warm palm presses against his forehead. Kuro looks at him intently, scanning over his face and then his body, presumably for any signs of ailment. “You’re burning up.” Kuro’s voice is a low murmur.

Kenma feel his legs weaken and if he presses into that warm, familiar palm, a purr just catching in his throat, neither of them say a thing.

Kuro doesn’t feel right, leaving Kenma when everything in him is screaming for him to stay and nurture him back to health. He wishes they were ten again, when it wasn’t “inappropriate” for him to stay over and share a bed with Kenma. When he’d fall asleep, listening to the quiet beeps of the omega’s handhelds, the stark, artificial lighting illuminating his face in the darkness of the room.

“Text me if you need anything, alright?” he makes sure to level Kenma with a meaningful look, but all he gets in return is a slight twitch of the kitten’s ears and a small shrug.

The next day, Kenma’s desk is empty. Kuro’s fingers drum against the top of his. He leans back in his chair, only half listening to the pretty, beta girl next to him. She’s nice enough, brings him food every now and then and comes to the team’s tournaments along with her group of friends, but she’s just not quite … right.

Her hair’s too long, swishing past her waist in light-caramel brown tendrils. Her lips are always shiny with that sticky gloss he hates and she’s too eager, attaching herself to his arm whenever she possibly can. She smells like artificial strawberries and she’s not the right height, not the right _anything_.

Kuro only writes the absolute minimum during class, which has always pissed his teachers off. During fourth hour, his phones beeps obnoxiously loud, alerting everyone in class that he’s just gotten a text message.

Some of his classmates snicker as he pulls it out, pressing one of the side buttons to silence it. His teacher gives him a death glare but he lets it roll off his back, not even the least bit phased.

Five minutes later though, his phone begins to vibrate. Constantly. His teacher’s glaring at him again. She walks briskly through the rows of desks until she’s towering over him, a scowl pinching her face sour.

She confiscates Kuro’s phone before he can even check who’s texted him, turning it off and jamming it in one of her desk drawers. She’s one of those hard asses in the school, a fifty-something-year-old alpha who students always moan and bitch about in the hallways.

Kuro slumps over in his desk, knowing he won’t get his phone back until the end of the day.

The rest of the day pasts by in a blur. Kuro’s still slightly annoyed when he goes back to pick up his phone, giving his sensei a sarcastic, “thanks,” as she hands him his phone back, her slightly wrinkled face unimpressed.

Kuro’s casually walking to practice when he turns his phone back on. Immediately, he’s bombarded with notifications.

10 missed calls

22 text messages

4 voice mails

Kuro stops in his tracks. Every single one is from Kenma.

The text messages start off reasonably calm, with Kenma messaging him a nondescript, “hey.” They quickly become more than that though, Kenma’s words coming out slightly off and hurried, forgetting a letter or two, asking Kuro when he can stop by over and over until all he’s sending is please, please, _please._

And Kuro doesn’t even give himself enough time to check the voice messages; he types out a quick, “I’m coming,” before sprinting off in the direction of Kenma’s house, the thought of anything else but Kenma fading like a whisper.

* * *

It’s an endless run to Kenma’s house, the adrenaline and panic pumping through Kuro like a drug. He quickly digs out the secret house key, stowed away under a potted plot of daisies.

He jams the key into the lock and opens the door, knowing that he’ll most likely be greeted with silence. Kenma’s parents are away at work until six and even then, his mother’s notorious for taking on extra hours.

The air in the house seems … odd. It’s stifled and fragrant with something delicious — it reminds Kuro of lazy afternoons, watching the sunlight filter through the clouds, laying in soft grass. It overwhelms him, makes him weak and he feels so vulnerable and he doesn’t even know _why_.

He follows the scent to where it grows thicker, headier; up the stairs and to the left. Right to Kenma’s bedroom.

He doesn’t even have the sense to knock on the door before entering. The scent hits him, full-bodied and delicious. His head swims as he breathes his fill and he calls out hesitantly, “Kenma?”

The bed is swathed with countless blankets and soft throws, a neatly-tucked disarray of chaos in the form of body pillows and old sweatshirts, threadbare tee’s and cotton sweats. Kuro even swears he sees at least two of his shirts in the mix. They’re all interwoven and laid out, circled together because it’s a _nest._

A nest that omegas make out of soft cloths and comforting possessions, usually borrowed from loved ones or mates; preferably their mates because the scent helps sooth them as they go into heat.

Kuro spies a familiar tuft of soft blonde hair, buried under the bed of blankets and that’s just it.

Kuro backs up, the pheromones in the air too much for him and he stumbles into Kenma’s dresser, a few knick knacks clattering to the floor. The nest stirs and Kenma peaks his head out, his sensitive ears twitching.

“Kuro,” he calls out, voice silky and warm. It draws the alpha in and his hands are clenched into fists because this isn’t right. He can’t take advantage of Kenma when he’s like this — the fever symptoms, the glassy eyes, the stomach cramps. They should’ve realized but omegas aren’t supposed to go into heat this early.

Omega’s usually go into heat during their third year, maybe even the second if they’re early bloomers. The majority of the time, their bodies are still developing, too young and delicate to support a full-blown heat. Too small to be mated, their slick, wanting hole too tight for a knot.

But here Kenma is, calling out for him, no doubt squirming and wet under the blankets. Kuro tries breathing out of his mouth, as if that’ll somehow lessen the scent of Kenma’s heat but instead, it just gets clogged up in the back of his throat, settling on his tongue as he if can practically taste the slick.

Kenma starts pushing the blankets away, a new wave of pheromones that were trapped beneath the blankets escaping. It makes Kuro dizzy.

He finds his voice, the words coming out scratchy and low, “Shit, Kenma,” he grits out, “I shouldn’t, I—“

“Why not?” Kenma practically whines, voice uncharacteristically breathy and high. Desperate. “You told me you would.”

“W-what are you talking about?” Kuro stutters, brows knitted together in confusion.

“When we were kids,” Kenma whimpers. “You told me you wanted to be my alpha.”

Kuro stops, eyes drawn to Kenma’s rosy, beautiful face as he sifts through his memories. He recalls a hazy moment when they were little, with a tiny Kuro cuddled up to Kenma. Something about being his alpha — proud words said in the heat of the moment.

Kuro would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it before. The way they just fit so perfectly together, the way he tried to find that same feeling with other betas and omegas. Even the occasional alpha. But they couldn’t compare, like the wrong ends of a puzzle piece trying to fit into his.

He shakes his head.

“Kenma, we were kids,” he says softly. “I didn’t think you even remembered—“

“Of course I would!” Kenma interrupts, face flushed with anger. “Look at me and tell me I’m not being completely serious about this. I know I can come off apathetic but I know what I want right now, and it’s _you_.” Kenma’s voice rises in pitch until he’s all but yelling, desperate and throaty, like Kuro’s his lifeline and he’ll be damned if he lets go.

Kuro can feel his resolve crumble, like a weathered wall. Kenma’s glaring at him now, tail poised behind him and breathing heavily. Kuro can’t find the words to protest that steely resolution.

“Alright,” he says at last, slowly beginning to strip out of his clothes. He tugs his shirt off, his pants following close behind until he’s stark naked. Kenma’s golden eyes watch him, twinkling like captured stars.

Kuro climbs into bed, yanking the sheets away.

He drinks in the sight of Kenma’s pale, delicate body. Tinged pink and dewy with sweat, his tiny cocklet a redline against the milky color of his tummy.

Kuro bends down, dragging his lips along the collarbone of the omega’s chest, teeth grazing along the sensitive skin.

“You want this too, right?” comes a small voice, barely audible.

Kuro buries his face in the soft flesh of Kenma’s neck and nibbles at the skin, reveling in the soft whimpers that’s he’s able to draw from Kenma’s lips. “Of course I do,” he replies, murmuring against Kenma’s neck, laying down beside the omega.

“I always want you.” Kuro’s hands wander the expanse of Kenma’s body, mapping the tiny ridges and soft curves, committing them to memory. And later, he’ll commit them to memory with his tongue, his lips. He’ll know Kenma’s body better than his own.

“What about the others?” the inflection in Kenma’s voice is distrustful, hurt.

Kuro chases away Kenma’s doubts with a kiss to the lips, his mouth soft and coaxing. It’s sweet and tastes like forgotten summer nights and ice cream left too long in the sun.

“There’s no competition.” Kuro fingers the sensitive tips of Kenma’s velvet soft ears.

Kuro’s hands wander to Kenma’s soft, tender belly and even lower, fingertips grazing his cocklet. He brushes past Kenma’s balls to the underside where he’s slick.

“Is this for me?” Kuro asks, teasingly, his fingertips swirling the puckered, pink hole.

“Don’t ask embarrassing questions,” Kenma snaps despite the deep blush tinting his cheeks. Kuro raises a brow, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. His _feisty_ , little omega.

He sinks a long finger in and it gives easily, encased in velvet heat. Kenma’s tail lays placid beside them, as the omega’s eyes flutter close. He squirms on that finger, bucks up and whines for more.

Kuro’s lips suction over one of Kenma’s rose bud nipples, nibbling and laving at the sensitive nub. He hears Kenma gasp a strangled out sound, fingers winding into his messy bed of hair, keeping him there.

Kuro takes his time, switching between Kenma’s nipples, teeth scraping teasingly every now and then. In no time, Kuro slides two more fingers in to join the first and lets Kenma ride his hand, grinding hard circles down, trying to graze against his sweet spot. Kenma does this until he’s riding out a quick, unsatisfying orgasm, slick, sloppy hole clenching tightly for more.

The omega babbles incoherently, desperately. Kuro has to shush him with quick kisses against his pink lips as he withdraws his fingers, an obscene, slick noise following.

It makes the alpha realize just how hard he is, his aching member swollen and engorged, ready to mate. He doesn’t want to hurt Kenma though, knows that three of his fingers aren’t nearly equivalent to the girth of his cock but the omega has other ideas.

Kenma digs his little omegan claws into the meat of Kuro’s shoulder, pushing him down onto the bed. The apex of his legs are slick, dripping thick and creamy down his thighs. His tail wraps around Kuro’s arm possessively and he drops down onto his knees, hands firmly planted on Kuro’s chest.

“I just want—,” Kenma’s mouth falls open as Kuro’s cock catches against his hole and he sinks down, just a little, just enough so that the flared head of Kuro’s cock sinks into him.

Kenma pants, open-mouthed and heavy as he struggles to take more in without hurting himself. It’s the first substantial thing he’s ever had inside him and it makes him shake from how much he needs. He arches his back and flexes down, crying out as another inch pushes in.

“Wait,” Kuro struggles to keep his composure, drunk off of Kenma’s pheromones and the cozy, inviting fit over his cock. It almost pains him to pull the omega off of him and once his cock slips free, it’s like a punch to his gut.

That perfect space inside Kenma, wet and clogged up with creamy slick, waiting for him. He gentles Kenma onto his back and settles in between his parted legs, switching the position.

“Maybe this’ll make it easier,” he slurs, taking his cock in hand and pushing the head of it against Kenma’s creamy rim. Entranced, he watches as more slick froths from the opening, kissing the tip of his cock.

He pushes in at a glacier pace, takes forever to get just the head back in but it’s worth it to see Kenma’s face contort with pleasure. The omega’s tail is still wrapped around his forearm, a steadfast grip that tethers him there as if to say, “you’re mine and I’m not ever letting you go.”

Kuro brackets Kenma’s face with a hand on either side and rolls his hips, deeper and deeper until there’s no more left of him. He whines brokenly in the back of his throat because it’s never been like this. Never been so overwhelmingly beautiful and dizzying, leaving him gasping for air.

Kenma’s worries earlier were all for naught because even before this, Kuro knew none of his other partners were the one. Being inside Kenma, filling that ache for his sweet, little kitten only confirms that.

Kuro starts a slow, gentle pace. He leans down and trails sloppy kisses against Kenma’s prominent collarbones and up the delicate column of his neck. He smells faintly of Kuro, most likely from the shirts he swiped that he incorporated in the nest.

It makes the alpha smile because Kenma should smell like him and after today — after he’s mated Kenma deep and thoroughly — no one will ever doubt who Kenma belongs to.

Or Kuro for that matter, as well.

Kenma wraps his slender legs around his alpha and they rut into each other, fluid hips and soft whines, until Kenma arches tightly, his slick hole pulsing around Kuro. The omega’s come splashes between them but Kuro doesn’t even consider stopping.

Omegas need a certain amount of orgasms, can’t really stop themselves either. During their heats, an omega’s refractory time is almost non-existent and each and every time they orgasm, the tight wring of their contractions draws their alpha deeper and even deeper still.

Kuro doesn’t know how long they mate; it could’ve been an hour, it could’ve been ten minutes. It’s a haze, filled with sweet words and slow kisses, leading up to the most intense orgasm he’s ever had.

He’s buried to the hilt when it happens, balls drawn up and he begins to shake. The tight coil in his stomach snaps and he’s coming with a desperate shout. Slender hands hold him as he buries his face in the crook of Kenma’s neck.

His knot begins to expand, won’t stop ballooning until it hits the size of his fist, locking them together. With every spurt of come, Kenma’s inner walls contract around him, milking his cock until there’s nothing left.

Kuro’s heart beats a mile a minute and he feels euphoric. He noses Kenma’s pulse point before sinking his teeth in, only hard enough to draws a few droplets of blood. It’s a faint bond mark, but it will do.

Kenma’s heat will last up to five days, but since it’s his very first and since he’s so young, there’s little to no chance that he’ll be seeded with Kuro’s pups. The alpha says as much, anyways.

“You don’t think I’ll conceive?” Kenma asks quietly, wiping the sweat from Kuro’s brow with his thumb.

“I don't think so,” Kuro says. It’ll be another fifteen minutes until his knot deflates; until then, he’s stuck in that beautiful, perfect heat.

Kenma purses his lips. “I guess you’re right.” A thoughtful look crosses his features.

_Although I don’t think I’d mind when I’m  older_ , he thinks to himself, a shy smile tugging at the ends of his lips.

He wouldn’t mind.

Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out my [tumblr](http://mads--hatter.tumblr.com/) for short drabbles and fic ideas~  
> and ofc, feedback is always appreciated (also, i totally understand that kenma's totally ooc at the end. i personally chalk it up to heat fever thoughts and also i'm weak for pregnancy kink ok bye).


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